Luminosity
by loveislouder94
Summary: She's a whirlwind of colour, and with her presence she sprinkles something bright and new on the lifeless canvas of your existence. It feels like hope and second chances, like something much too good for you. / Remus and Tonks, for Anna.


**For Anna (colourful swirls) who is without a doubt one of the nicest and most talented people on here. Happy Birthday! This is nothing in comparison to the masterpieces you write, but I hope you like it anyway! :)**

She's a whirlwind of colour, and with her presence she sprinkles something bright and new on the lifeless canvas of your existence. It feels like hope and second chances, like something much too good for you.

She trips into your life, quite literally, and the romantic in you likens her to divine intervention, an unsuspecting angel falling into the arms of a beast in disguise. And the realist in you says that she's clumsy, you're quick enough to catch her, and that's all there is to it.

(But she changes the way you see the world, she makes you believe in destiny and divine intervention, in something that transcends all the hate you've ever known.)

As you shake the hand she offers, you notice that her nails are painted the same eye-catching purple as her hair, and from that moment on, the sight of purple makes you smile for a reason you don't want to acknowledge.

The first time she tells you she loves you, you're both a little bit drunk and more than a little emotional over losing Sirius. You don't know what to say so you don't say anything, and your face closes coldly, protecting her (and you) by keeping your distance. You make your excuses and leave, hoping she won't remember her mistake, but you try to avoid her just in case.

* * *

For eleven months and three agonizing days you refuse to be with her. On the rare occasions you do see her, she's like a different person. She's lost her spark, her zest for life. She's not swirls or pigments or tints, she's just plain, broken brown and no matter which way you look at it, it's entirely your fault.

You push her away, pull her closer. You leave, and then you come back. You're indecisive, even though you've never been more decided about anything - you don't want to imagine a future if it's not with her.

Dumbledore dies and your resistance crumbles – it's time for you to let the light in.

"I love you," she whispers, "I love you, I _love_ you." She says it over and over again like a mantra, begging you to believe her, as though if she repeats herself often enough, all your doubts will fall away.

And finally – _finally_ – you tell the truth. "You're perfect," you tell her breathlessly, and the words just feel right. She's stubborn and impatient and clumsy and sometimes she doesn't know when to shut her mouth and all those things, you think, they're not bad, they're just a part of who she is, and she's not just perfect to you, she's perfect _for _you.

So you match her passionate kisses with your own, relishing the feeling of getting lost in her, in the beautiful idea of you and her, and you can't imagine how or why you ever stayed away.

Your heart is full with something you never knew you'd been missing.

* * *

"Dora?"

She turns to you, smiling at the sound of her name, and it takes your breath away.

You inhale deeply, gathering all that Gryffindor courage. You've mentally prepared a long speech explaining all the ways she's made your life better, and why you always want to be a part of hers, but looking at her now, it disappears from your mind completely. She already knows these things, she doesn't need to hear them again, so you stick with something simple. "Will you marry me?"

Her response is not immediate, and instantly, black clouds descend, ready to erase the mosaic you'd made together, leaving you bereft and filling you with shame. And then she's kissing you so fiercely it can only mean a yes, and you're kissing her back and there's no such thing as black or dark or grey, there's only her and she is a beacon of everything bright and good and true.

"I do," she says, her eyes never leaving yours.

"I do," you vow, firm and sure. It's a promise, to her and to yourself and right then, the rest of the world doesn't exist. The future lies in front of you, full of colours you've never seen and the kind of happiness you never thought you'd have.

* * *

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, and some of the colour in your life leeches away as fear creeps in.

"What?" You ask, hoping her words were a simple case of misunderstanding.

"We're having a baby, Remus!" The contrast between them has never been more apparent. She's radiant, filled with an ecstasy more profound than anything she's ever felt before, somehow more _alive _with the news. And it doesn't make sense that they very thing that nourishes her kills you slowly with guilt and fear and immoveable awareness of your own reckless stupidity. _How could you have let this happen?_

Bill and Fleur's wedding allows you to forget, or at least shift your mind to something else. You don't even notice Fleur or any of her well-dressed Veela family, you've only got eyes for Dora. You sit near the back, hands entwined, and you can't help but think that this is the wedding she should have had. She knows what you're thinking, she always does, and she leans over and whispers in your ear, "I think ours was better."

And even though your wedding was clandestine and rushed and nothing like this, you can't doubt the sincerity in her eyes or the smile on her face, and you agree with her. Yours was better, because she was marrying you, committing to spend the rest of her life with you, and a bond like yours is incomparable and unbreakable.

Still, you slip away that night, and you feel like a thief and a coward as you think of the way she'd fallen asleep holding your hand. And you're both those things – you stole her heart, and her luminosity, and now you're too afraid to stay.

You're a variable and she's a constant, dependent, reliable and fiercely loyal. You bend her and break her, step on her shattered heart and still she waits, with gentle understanding, for you to come back to her. You'll always come back to her.

And you do, although it takes an objective seventeen year old to push you in the right direction.

Going back to her is the hardest thing you've ever done, because you can't predict how she'll react, and you know you've given her more than enough reason to shut you out, to take her vibrant hues and Hufflepuff loyalty and make a life without you.

Of course, she forgives you without a second thought, because for some inexplicable reason, she _gets _you and your misguided attempt at being noble. She shows you that life is worth fighting for – that you are worth fighting for.

(She makes you believe in _love_.)

You're not dull and grey anymore, you're _shining, glowing, _you're a rainbow sparkling through the storms. When you're Tonks-and-Remus together, you're complete.

**Written for:**

******The Holiday Category Competition - Valentine's Day**  
**fanfiction terms category competition – otp**  
The Latin Challenge - Amor  
Hugs and Happiness Challenge - Anna


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